


Dear Jake

by bethycupcake



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Angst, Death, F/M, Future Fic, Grief, Illness, Letters, amy died, im so sorry, its so sad, jake's having trouble coping, our goofball is grieving
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-05 20:41:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11585805
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethycupcake/pseuds/bethycupcake
Summary: Numb.Everything was numb.But, at the same time, everything hurt.He needed a miracle right now.But she'd needed a miracle for so much longer. The miracle that never came.---Two weeks after Amy's death, Jake receives a letter.





	Dear Jake

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this came from... I guess it's partially inspired by elsaclack's 'if you want me to stay, I will stay by your side' (it's amazing please read it), and then by P.S. I Love You by Cecelia Ahern (again, please read it) 
> 
> I have no idea if this is any good or if it's the kind of thing that Amy would say in a letter, but anyway, here it is
> 
> *I did not proof read this so I apologise for any mistakes*

Numb.

Everything was numb.

But, at the same time, everything hurt.

He had become numb to time passing – how long had he been sat there, on the couch? Hours? Days? Weeks? He couldn’t be sure.

He was numb to the once warm sunlight pouring through the open curtains – he could almost hear her voice now, chastising him for leaving them open at night.

He wasn’t numb, however, to the all-too-familiar ache in his chest, the gaping hole in his heart that he didn’t know how to fill – okay, that was a lie. He knew exactly what would fix him. But she was gone.

He wasn’t numb to the burn in his eyes from the seemingly endless supply of tears that had now miraculously dried up – the burn was now the _need,_ but _inability_ to cry any more.

Miraculous. Miracle. He needed a miracle right now.

But she’d needed a miracle for so much longer. The miracle that never came.

 

 ---

 

Jake wasn’t sure how long he’d been sat like this. How long he had been alone. The hours and days had blurred together, warped increments of time punctuated only by trips to the bathroom every now and then.

He couldn’t remember the last time he had eaten. He supposed it must have been at the hospital, sat at Amy’s bedside. His mom had cooked for them, not trusting hospital meals and vending machine snacks to be wholesome enough to sustain them.

If Jake had known that that was their last meal together, he would have savoured it. He would have memorised every detail about it; the warmth in his stomach from the first home cooked meal in who knows how many days, the evening sunlight playing upon the sterile floors.

The way Amy managed to still look beautiful to him, despite the tubes extending from her body like extra limbs or the greasy shine of her unwashed hair or the paleness of her face. Her beauty didn’t seem to fade and deteriorate as she had done.

The silence of the apartment – _their apartment_ , the one they had chosen _together_ – meant that the noise from the streets outside appeared to be amplified, especially since Jake had emerged from his stupor. He wondered, then, how it was – how it was _fair_ – that the world around him was still turning, still moving, still living, when _his_ world had gone – shattered, taken away from him in the blink of an eye.

He stood and went to the bathroom, without really feeling the need to go, but instead feeling the need to move around, to do _something_ to relieve the ache in back that he still wasn’t sure if it was connected to the ache in his chest, or the result of countless nights spent sleeping – or not sleeping, as the case had been for the vast majority of the time – on the couch.

He hadn’t been in their bedroom since he returned home. He makes the excuse to himself that he hasn’t had any real reason to go in there yet, which he tries _so hard_ to believe, but know that deep down, it’s because he’s scared. Scared of seeing her things everywhere, each one holding a particular memory or moment from their lives. Scared of everything in there smelling of her and reminding him she’s not there. Scared of her scent eventually fading, leaving him with nothing to comfort him. Scared that, if he goes in there – if he opens the door to this time capsule of their lives, everything still the way it was when they left together for the last time – he won’t ever be able to bring himself out again.

He walks down the hall towards the kitchen, trying in vain to ignore the way the throbbing in his chest intensified _ever so slightly_ as he passes the bedroom door.

Feeling the relief that walking brings to his back, he continues to wander aimlessly around the apartment, wishing he knew what to do with himself.

He realises, belatedly, that he also can’t remember the last time he drank anything. He could almost hear Amy’s voice telling him that he should drink more water – the imagined sentiment taking him back to that one terrible day in 2017, the day he was found guilty for the bank robbery. Then, when that wouldn’t work, imaginary Amy would tell him to _please just drink_ something, _even orange soda._

Orange soda. Even that was tainted by bad memories. Their first real fight as a couple. The mattress. The promise of commitment, of _I want this. I want us._

He walked into the kitchen, searching for the cans of soda he was sure he had stashed in a cupboard somewhere. When he couldn’t find any, he tried the fridge, only to find that there was no orange soda, but was instead filled from top to bottom with various mismatched Tupperware containers, each one labelled. He wasn’t sure who had put them there – or how, for that matter – but he recognised the handwriting of his friends. _Jerk Chicken_ written in Terry’s, _Baked Ziti_ in Rosa’s, _Chicken Noodle Soup_ in Gina’s – Nana’s recipe, no doubt – _Meatloaf_ in the Captain’s and _Clam Chowder_ in Charles’ – which, Jake realised, must have taken a lot of restraint – along with a whole host of others in the same writing, with some that he didn’t recognise.

He felt a sudden swell of affection for his friends – no, his _family_ – and wondered how they were coping. He wasn’t the only one who loved Amy, after all. Loves. Present tense. He didn’t stop loving her as soon as she was gone. He never will stop loving her.

 

\---

 

An hour later, Jake was back sat on the couch, a finished bowl of soup – courtesy of Gina – on the coffee table. He had no real desire to eat, but heated the soup anyway. But, as the smell filled the kitchen, Jake’s hunger made a comeback and he felt the absence of food in his stomach.

Something was playing on the TV, though it was muted, and Jake watched it without really paying any attention, looking through the faces on screen rather than at them.

Once again, he fell into a stupor, only coming back to the present when he heard something push through the letterbox and land, address-side down, with a quiet _thud_ on the doormat that had the word _Alohomora_ emblazoned across in in gold text.

Jake reluctantly hauled himself off the sofa, presuming the letter to be a bill or similar, something he did not want to think about right now, but was surprised to see that it was a plain white envelope, not the brown ones official letters normally come in.

When he picked it up, Jake felt the weight of the quality envelope, and no doubt the paper inside, curious as to what it might be. Just as he did so, he felt his stomach grumble, clearly unsatisfied with his earlier meal. He left the letter on the dresser by the front door and made his way to the kitchen, reasoning that the letter could wait and that if it had been urgent, they would have just called him.

 

\---

 

Jake didn’t open the letter until two days later.

He no longer found himself in a constant daze, and managed to engage his brain and limbs just enough to move his empty dishes from the coffee table to the kitchen, finding he had significantly more energy than he had two days ago, but still not enough to do anything particularly noteworthy.

He had also managed to coax himself into the shower, reasoning that there was no way it could be healthy – or sanitary – to go this long without one. He took a clean t-shirt and sweatpants from the drier and put his dirty clothes in the washing machine ready to wash, thankful that he didn’t have to face their bedroom _just yet,_ though he knew he would have to eventually.

He was just walking past the front door towards the kitchen with some empty dishes when he noticed the envelope, still sat on the dresser, though he struggled to remember when or how it got there.

When he did remember, and realised how long it had been sat there, he hastily put his dirty dishes with the rest – they were starting to pile up now, but he had no desire to clean them – and grabbed the letter from the side, turning it over to read the front for the first time.

What he saw there made his heart beat faster and caused him to drop it, like it was a hot coal that had burned him, and it fell to the floor.

There, on the white paper, was the perfect cursive handwriting that he had become familiar with in police reports, in Christmas cards, and at the bottom of their marriage contract; Amy’s.

With aching hands and trembling heart, Jake retrieved the letter and made his way back over to the couch, never once taking his eyes off the address written there, scared that somehow if he does, it will change and he’ll realise that it wasn’t Amy’s writing, but someone else’s.

He turned it over in his hands multiple times, battling with himself as to whether he should open it or not, not wanting to damage or tarnish one of the last this she would have touched.

Taking a deep breath, Jake slid his finger along underneath the flap and pulled out and unfolded the letter, relieved to find more of Amy’s handwriting covering the several pages within.

He took another breath, wiped his eyes that had, at some point, become blurry with unshed tears, and began to read.

**_Dear Jake,_ **

He could almost hear her voice, feel her presence beside him as he read.

**_I know that if you are reading this, it is exactly two weeks since I… Well, you know. That._ **

Jake almost laughed at her avoidance of the actual words. Death. Dead. Died. Even through her illness she maintained her sense of humour, as well as her social awkwardness.

**_I also know what happens to you when you’re grieving. When you’re hurting. I saw it not long after we met, when your mom got sick. I saw it when Gina was hit by that bus however many years ago. And I have no doubt that it’s happening again right now._ **

Jake thought back to these events, and realised how much having Amy there helped him through. Her patience and undying love for him gave him strength whenever he felt weak, and she always knew exactly what to do to make things better. Or, at least, more manageable.

**_You probably don’t know of or realise your habits, but I do. In the same way that you have the Amy Santiago Panic Scale_ _™ and the Amy Santiago Drunkenness Scale_ _™ down to a science, I have the Jacob Peralta Grief Scale_ _™. If my calculations and estimations and however many other –tion words there are are correct, you’re still in phase one; complete shutdown._ **

Admittedly Jake had never really thought about it. Whenever he was grieving, he was able to focus on little else but that and Amy. He had never really considered the fact that it was the same every time, just as Amy’s panics and dunkennesses were, at least not to the point where she had a name for it and could actually _calculate_ which stage he was in right now.

But, when he comes to think of it, she’s not exactly wrong. After all, two weeks had apparently passed without Jake noticing, and he found he didn’t have the energy he would usually have – though he put that down to the shock of losing his wife, his True Love, his soulmate, all of those words and phrases that are used to describe two people who are just _meant_ to be together, who love each other with every single fibre of their being.

**_I know that this stage of your process is difficult. Even the simplest of tasks seem impossible, seem pointless, even, but there are things you’ve got to do. That’s why I wrote this to you. To help you and guide you through them._ **

Jake is suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of love and adoration for his wife, and feels a sharp pain replacing the ache that had been in his chest for the last several weeks. His eyes burn with fresh tears, the supply clearly replenished after the past few days when Jake has begun to eat and drink again. He lets the tears fall, holding the paper close to his chest so as not to get it wet and smudge the ink. Once they subside a little, Jake continues to read.

**_What I want you to do, right now, is eat something. I don’t know how long it would have been since you ate, but judging by how little you did when you stayed with me at the hospital, I’m sure it could have been weeks._ **

**_I also want you to drink something. Even if it’s orange soda, I just need you to be at least remotely hydrated._ **

Once again he is surprised by how accurately she has managed to predict his habits, remembering that the first time he ate in the past two weeks was the very same day the letter arrived.

Although the familiar pang of hunger was not present, Jake did what Amy said, but bypassed the meals in the fridge, deciding to save those, instead going to the cupboard where Amy kept a seemingly endless supply of crackers and tinned foods. _We need to be prepared, Jake,_ she had said when he questioned her about it, _in case of natural disaster or no electricity._

Jake had always admired her preparedness, and was thankful for it when, just two days later, New York was hit with the worst thunderstorm they’d had in years, and the power shut off. He was sure, as they huddled with blankets and nibbled on crackers and soup that they heated with a backup gas burner Amy had bought “for when we go camping,” that Amy sported a smug smile. That particular cupboard was now kept _exclusively_ for emergency foods.

Jake pulled a few half-stale crackers from an almost-empty packet, poured himself a glass of water, and returned to his seat on the couch, smiling fondly at the memory.

**_You’ll find a ton of meals in the fridge, courtesy of our friends and families. Please make sure you eat at least two a day, if you can’t manage a full three._ **

**_You don’t have to do these right now, but I want you to do them today. First, take a shower. It’s the kind of meaningless task that is easily forgotten or bypassed, but it’s also the kind of thing that can make a world of difference to your mood._ **

**_Then, do the dishes. However many there are. The longer you leave it, the more they will stack up and the more difficult it will be to motivate yourself to do them. Same with the trash. Take it out today – god knows how long it’s been sat there – before it gets too full and the smell gets too bad._ **

He made a mental note to himself to do these things later, not yet able to tear himself away from her.

**_Finally, get some sleep. I know it must be hard, but there’s no way you’ll be able to function without it. A good night’s sleep always used to make you feel infinitely better._ **

**_Please take care of yourself, Jake. For me._ **

**_I love you, Pineapples._ **

**_Amy xx_ **

Jake let out a shuddering breath that he didn’t realise he was holding and carefully re-folded the paper and slid it back into the envelope.

He held it to his chest, his eyes screwed tight against the onslaught of tears he can feel emerging, and whispers, “I love you too, Ames.”

**Author's Note:**

> hahaha i'm so sorry
> 
> lemme know what you think... I have some ideas for more letters if you guys like it, so let me know if you want me to continue and this could turn into a full-blown P.S. I Love You au or something
> 
> thanks so much for reading, as always you can find me on tumblr kind-sober-fullydressed if you wanna talk about stuff


End file.
